


Once Is Never Enough

by poodlepunk



Series: Once and Again [2]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, High School and beyond, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodlepunk/pseuds/poodlepunk
Summary: Five moments in time. Tamaki falls for his best friend. When it’s a matter of the heart, can the host club prince outplay the shadow king?
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Series: Once and Again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971526
Comments: 42
Kudos: 162





	1. Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> Companion story to [And So Kyoya Met Him! (Again)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386147/chapters/64272154). Same universe (post-anime, some manga influences but mostly manga AU). Probably best if read second, but can be standalone.
> 
> Any feedback is super appreciated—I love chatting about these guys with you!  
> I’ll finish this up in early November. E rating is for later chapters. I hope you enjoy! <3

_High school, 2nd year, 17 years old_

It all seemed like a good idea, until Tamaki found himself on a luxury tour bus at four a.m., headed to a cabin in the depths of the mosquito infested wilderness, the whole host club furious that he had signed them up to test the Ootori Group’s newest corporate retreat facility. That’s when he realized that, once again, he had been tricked. 

“That brochure on my desk made it sound like there would be relaxing activities. And bonding,” he hissed at Kyoya.

“Some people find it quite relaxing to perform military boot camp style exercises, fight each other with paintball guns, and hunt for their own food in the wild. Also, there is a handicrafts station,” said Kyoya. He had not looked up from his clipboard.

Tamaki huffed in annoyance, staring out at the passing landscape. Everyone else on the bus was asleep and the twins were snoring loudly, Haruhi tucked between them snoozing like a delicate angel. Tamaki thought he should be angry about that, but they all looked so peaceful.

Well, he would show Kyoya, as he always did, by making the best of a bad situation and enjoying himself anyway. There _would_ be fun and familial bonding today and everyone else would just have to deal with it.

“How are you awake, anyway?” he asked his friend. Kyoya had put the clipboard away and was on to perusing his physics textbook.

“I never slept,” Kyoya admitted. “Do you truly think I would wake up at four in the morning?”

“You expected me to do it! Why are we going to this place anyway?”

“My father thought it would be beneficial.”

 _Ah_ , Tamaki thought.

He gave Kyoya one of his brightest smiles, then, and said, “We’ll have to help however we can! After all, a weekend in the woods could be the perfect chance to come together as a family. Imagine all of us snuggling next to the fire, roasting marshmallows. We’ll sleep under the stars!”

Kyoya did not respond. He just kept reading. But he didn’t make any acid remarks, either, which was his version of gratitude.

Tamaki ended up falling asleep after a while, and by the time they arrived at the retreat, it was sunrise. There were a few cabins surrounded by woods and greenery. An intimidating looking obstacle course in the distance. The sound of morning birds just singing themselves awake.

“I want to make lanyards!” exclaimed Hani, sleepily descending from the bus.

“I’ve heard of corporate retreats,” said Haruhi thoughtfully. “They’re quite popular in the business world. I guess it makes sense for an organization like the host club to learn about team bonding like this.”

“Yes Haruhi!” Tamaki cried, heart hammering. “Let’s be on the same team!”

“She’s on our team,” the twins cackled, running ahead with her up the path.

Tamaki briefly considered going for an epic sulk, perhaps digging a hole in the surrounding woods, but Haruhi was laughing, they were going to have a fun day together.

“You’ll be on my team, won’t you Kyoya?”

“Hm? Yes, I suppose so,” Kyoya said, disinterested, as he directed the staff with the luggage.

“Good.”

They spent the rest of the day trying out all of the team bonding exercises.

Mori and Hani easily completed the obstacle course with their typical agility and grace. The twins got competitive with each other, taunting and jeering, and ended up washing out in the lake, laughing together. Tamaki almost took a bad fall while enthusiastically scaling a rock climbing wall, but Kyoya was there, of course, to catch his arm.

Haruhi, never athletic, did her best for a while but then ended up walking around the obstacles and finally sitting down under a tree to read her book.

Next was the paintball game, which Haruhi also chose not to participate in. She found running around covered in padding on a warm spring day, firing guns full of paint at each other, to be “absolutely pointless.” She was probably right.

Hani and Mori were the natural expected winners, but Kyoya made the game into a battle of wits, finding an ideal position to fire from. He and Tamaki held the high ground, picking off the others below as they tried to mount a frontal assault. The twins pinned them down for a while, but Kyoya suggested a pincer attack, surprised them from behind, and led the team to victory.

“We won!” Tamaki trilled, waving his arms at Haruhi down the hill. “Haruhi! Haruhi we won, thanks to my amazing strategy!”

“Yes, excellent strategy,” said Kyoya, and then calmly shot him in the back. "I win."

Finally they went back to the cabin for an afternoon making handicrafts and lanyards. Hani zoomed around all excited, showing off his butterfly lanyard.

“It’s cute,” said Haruhi, finally, out of the kindness of her heart.

They practiced trust falls, taking turns tumbling back into each other’s arms. Everyone took that part surprisingly seriously. Tamaki loved it most of all, closing his eyes, falling backwards, reveling in the hands that caught him.

As the sun was setting they went for a short hike. The day was so green and fresh, the air so clean out here in the mountains. Mori carried Hani on his shoulders, the head of the group. The twins shoulder to shoulder behind them. Haruhi walked on her own, head up, feet confident, eyes straight ahead on the path. And at the end, Tamaki with Kyoya at his side.

That felt lovely and right, the way Tamaki always liked things to be. The way he liked Haruhi to be, always ahead, almost in reach. The way he liked Kyoya, always available, always at his fingertips.

The afternoon light through the trees was lacy and soft. They crested a hill at dusk. The valley opened out below them to reveal a breathtaking view, rolling hills, blossoming trees for miles, the distant coastline cradling the sea.

They all sat down, let the breeze wash over them, watched the sun slowly settle into the ocean. The sky was streaked pink and gold, reflected in Kyoya’s glasses, leaving Haruhi’s face half shadowed. It was almost summer, that time of changes.

"It's so beautiful," said Tamaki. "Let's come back sometime." Everyone agreed, gave their assent, but it was one of those things, Tamaki thought, that you would always mean to do but might never do again.

They trudged back to the camp when it started to get dark. There was a fire waiting for them, sleeping bags unrolled outside, but everyone opted for the beds in the cabin.

“What about my marshmallow idea?” Tamaki demanded.

“We’ve been awake since four in the morning,” said the twins, begging off. Everyone headed for the comfortable luxury of the cabins while Tamaki went to sit by the fire.

He speared a marshmallow from the gourmet smores setup and started roasting it, looking into the crackling flames. He was too awake to sleep, all the excitement, the togetherness, still pulsing through him. The knowledge that things wouldn’t always be the same felt tight in his throat. 

After a while, Kyoya came to join him, even though he was the most exhausted and sleepless of all. He appeared, wan and tired, and sat on a log across from Tamaki. The way he always did, the way he always appeared when needed most, a ward, a charm against loneliness.

“I hate marshmallows,” he said.

Tamaki smiled. “They also left some coffee. But you shouldn’t have any more. It’ll stunt your growth. Ruin your good looks.”

Kyoya nodded, leaning back, looking up at the sky. The smoke from the fire obscured him a little.

“Full moon tonight,” he said.

Tamaki looked up too. Out here, away from the city lights, the moon was so close, incredibly bright.

“I’m going to sleep out here,” Tamaki announced.

Kyoya sighed, which Tamaki took as a sign that Kyoya would join him, but would put on a show of being under duress.

While Tamaki ate his evening snack, he noticed Kyoya’s ever present clipboard still by his elbow.

“Did we accomplish everything on the list?” Tamaki asked.

Kyoya leaned forward and passed the clipboard to him mutely, an unexpected honor. Tamaki scanned the list of activities, surprised at how much they had gone through in just a day. “Wow, Kyoya, if it’s possible, we’re more bonded as a team than ever!”

Looking down the list, there was only one thing left undone. “We forgot one.”

“What?” asked Kyoya, alarmed. He would be going home after this to write some report for his father about the whole experience.

“Let’s do it!” said Tamaki. “There’s still time.” They both knew that Kyoya could not simply leave a checkbox unchecked.

“What is it?” asked Kyoya warily.

“We have to look into our teammate’s eyes for one minute of sustained eye contact. That will bring us closer and help us bond.”

Kyoya tsked sharply. “Unbelievable pop psychology. I can’t believe how popular these things are.”

“If we’re going to do it, let’s get comfortable.”

Tamaki got up from the tree stump he’d been sitting on, dusted off his pants. He went to lie down on top of one of the sleeping bags. Kyoya joined him, settling on the sleeping bag adjacent. They were both incredibly tired. Tamaki’s eyes felt heavy, just from the weight of his own body against the ground.

He shifted to face Kyoya. “We have to do it properly,” he said. “Take off your glasses.”

Kyoya wrinkled his nose, but complied. He set a timer for one minute on his watch.

Tamaki rolled closer toward Kyoya until they were facing, within reach of each other, close enough for Kyoya to see well. Kyoya had an earthy, herbal smell. Distinct. Comforting. Their eyes met.

Kyoya’s expression was careful, concealing. Around them, everything was quiet except for the crackling of the fire, the occasional thrumming chorus of crickets, rustling of the wind in the leaves.

Tamaki had never _really_ looked into Kyoya’s eyes, and certainly not for so long. They were brown. Warm and rich. The eyelashes were thin and sparse but surprisingly long, delicate. Kyoya’s face looked so young, up close, heartbreakingly young, only seventeen and already heavy with the world. Usually his eyes were hard, evaluating, but from this view they were unexpectedly open, almost searching.

The longer Tamaki looked, the more he saw, the more he was afraid to look away. He noticed Kyoya’s dilating pupils, the way he blinked, the quick pulse of his blood in his temple. Tamaki could feel Kyoya’s breath, against his own mouth.

The timer went off, chiming on Kyoya’s wrist, but they just stayed like that, breathing against each other. Breathing against each other, closely. Kyoya was the one to pull away.

Tamaki had never realized. There had always been something deep, heavy, flickering in Kyoya’s eyes. And that night, for the first time, Tamaki knew what it was.


	2. Indirect Approach

_University, 1st year, 19 years old_

Tamaki changed his shirt, for the sixteenth time. He was acting strangely. Acting ridiculous. Acting like he was getting ready for a date.

He used to call Kyoya, when this happened. He used to call Kyoya twenty-seven times before he was even awake, when he wanted advice about what to wear before going out with Haruhi.

And Kyoya used to answer, eventually, and shout at him, “If you call me again before 10 a.m., I will come over there and _set all of your clothes on fire_.”

Tamaki missed Kyoya shouting at him. If he had known that it was one of those precious high school memories, something there was a limited supply of, he would have enjoyed it more.

As it was, he rarely heard from his old friend. Kyoya texted him fairly often, but it was mostly links to business articles about the Suoh group, or else GIFs of cats (Tamaki responded with GIFs of dogs).

It had been months since he last saw Kyoya in person, over winter break, and they barely got to talk to each other then, seated at opposite ends of a long table with the rest of the host club catching up around them.

They hadn’t spent time alone together in...Tamaki frowned. Too long.

 _Kyoya will be here soon_ , he thought, and changed his shirt one more time.

He stood in front of the long mirror and examined himself. There was only so much effect that dark jeans and an electric blue t-shirt could have. Stanford was always casual, and he didn’t want to overdress. He didn’t know why he even cared so much about looking good.

In high school, dressing stylishly and having perfect skin had been his obsessions, but lately he had let things go considerably. He winced at his reflection. He looked tired, he’d been out all night again, fallen asleep drunk again in some stranger’s dorm. He pulled at the neck of his shirt so that it concealed the embarrassing, obvious love bite on his throat from the night before.

The outfit was as good as it was going to get, he decided. He went into the living room, looking out the window at the beautifully landscaped courtyard, the sparkling swimming pool below.

When he started college, Tamaki’s grandmother bought him a beautiful, luxury apartment near school. His grandmother chose Stanford for him from the selection of colleges. Prestigious. Foreign. Closer to Japan than it was to Europe.

The apartment came with all the amenities. There were maids, a butler, a chauffeur at his disposal. A secretary from the Suoh group came by to check on his progress from time to time. It all reminded Tamaki a lot of Suoh Mansion #2. Another place to hide him away.

Tamaki turned from the window and ran his fingers idly over the piano he had bought for the living room. He thought about playing something. He rarely got a chance to play these days. He’d learned a lot of American music recently, favoring the old, romantic songs. But he didn’t feel like it, and turned from the piano restlessly, pulling out his phone.

 _Thanks. Last night was amazing. You’re so gorgeous,_ the first text on his lock screen read, making his stomach sink. He hadn’t meant to do that again.

There was nothing wrong with it, of course. He was young and single and free to have casual sex with whoever he liked. Haruhi had wisely broken up with him at the beginning of the year, citing the distance, their changing lives, the fact that their relationship was something they were both outgrowing. They would always care for each other, but she was right about everything, as usual.

Still, he came back from winter break feeling lost, and he’d found himself in the arms of anyone who would have him. Sometimes a different person every night of the week. He convinced himself for a while that it was almost like the host club, making people happy, fulfilling their deep needs. Not something he did because he was lonely.

It was never anything serious. He had learned many tricks from his time as a host, he knew both how to give someone exactly what they needed, be everything in their eyes for one brief moment, and also how to extricate himself at the end, how to leave them dazzled and breathless but never expecting anything more.

He deleted the text message.

There were also emails. One from the Suoh group confirming his summer internship at their U.S. office, one from his economics professor warning him that the paper he’d gotten an extension on was now past due again. He hadn’t written it, hadn’t started it, and when he thought about doing so he just felt a deep, insurmountable inertia. 

He ignored both of those and scrolled to Kyoya’s contact in his phone.

 _Let’s meet for dinner before my flight,_ Kyoya’s last message read. _I’ll see you at your apartment after my meeting_.

Kyoya was in San Francisco today, a hub of biomedical research, for a business meeting. Because of course he was the kind of college freshman who would travel internationally for a business meeting.

Kyoya was still living at the Ootori family compound, working for the company in his spare time, going to a top university during the day.

Tamaki briefly examined Kyoya’s contact photo on his phone, studying the familiar face. Straight, even, symmetrical features, a jawline so sharp and beautiful it could cut glass. No smile, but an amused quirk at the corner of his mouth, if you looked hard enough. Everything about it made Tamaki’s heart ache with longing. For the past, for the familiar.

He desperately missed their intense closeness. He missed seeing his best friend at school every day, sleeping on Kyoya’s bedroom floor almost every weekend for two years. He missed their heads bent together over a textbook, the way they talked too fast, past each other, about some stupid host club idea and still understood perfectly what the other person was trying to say.

It wasn’t just the distance. He knew Kyoya had pulled away from him, near the end of high school. It made sense, they were both busy preparing for college, Tamaki was spending all his free time with Haruhi. And there was...that thing they didn’t talk about.

After realizing how Kyoya felt, Tamaki had waited for him to say something. He had also waited to examine his own feelings on the subject, which were very mixed. Mostly terror, because Kyoya was his best friend, his touchstone, his north star. Tamaki had never liked it when things changed.

But Kyoya never said a word. At times, Tamaki thought he must have imagined it. At others, he could feel it, the silent weight of it. And there were also times when he caught himself thinking, when they shared a glance over some secret joke or touched hands in passing a plate or Kyoya’s voice had that certain sarcastic lilt, _maybe, maybe._

He’d never cared for change. But things were changing anyway, shifting so fast underneath him he still hadn’t found his footing. 

_Be there in five minutes,_ Kyoya texted, jolting Tamaki out of his thoughts.

Tamaki went down to the lobby to wait for him. He shook himself off, searching for the right note, their usual tone. He was so nervous--why was he so nervous? When the black car pulled up in the porte cochere, Tamaki could hear the blood roaring in his ears.

Kyoya got out of the car. He wasn’t wearing a suit, which must have been a nod to the Silicon Valley casual culture. But he still looked so handsome and crisp, perfectly pressed and unflappable, in a navy button down, slate grey trousers. His hair was a little bit longer than he usually liked, bangs falling into his eyes, he must have been too busy lately to find time for a trim.

Tamaki was so excited to see him, it took effort not to act like an eager puppy, not to jump on him, not to throw himself into Kyoya’s arms. 

“It’s good to see you!” he cried, rushing up to Kyoya and then stopping short.

Kyoya gave him a brief nod in greeting, but he was smiling.

“How was your trip? How was your meeting? What do you think of California?” Tamaki asked.

“Fine,” said Kyoya. “Fine. There’s a lot of...sunshine.”

“How long until your flight?”

Kyoya glanced at his watch. “I should head for the airport in three hours.”

“Plenty of time!” said Tamaki. “There’s so much I want to show you.”

They ended up having Kyoya’s driver drop them off at the university campus. Tamaki was eager to give his friend a tour, show him all the interesting aspects of American life he had discovered. Kyoya had a few work colleagues from Stanford, and was interested to see the facilities.

“I love college, it’s so exciting!” Tamaki said, pulling Kyoya forward, rushing them through the crowd of students.

They did a campus tour, Tamaki walking backwards, gesturing frantically like the school sanctioned tour guides. Kyoya was suitably impressed as they navigated the red roofs and grand archways.

“Let’s go to the famous taco truck. Everybody loves it,” Tamaki suggested, as dinnertime approached.

“But there are so many Michelin Star restaurants around here,” said Kyoya blankly.

“Trust me,” Tamaki said.

Kyoya’s expression was extremely skeptical, especially as they approached the truck, with a huge line of students craning to put their orders in at a tiny window.

“There’s food in there?” Kyoya asked.

“Yes! Amazing how inventive commoners can be. A whole kitchen inside that tiny space.”

Tamaki bought them two of everything. They found a place to sit on the nearby lawn, spreading out their trays in the grass. Tamaki was afraid for Kyoya to ruin his beautiful clothes, he looked so polished, so professional, but Kyoya didn’t seem to mind. He sat down in the grass easily beside Tamaki.

“How do you eat this?” asked Kyoya, looking at his taco like it was a nuclear reactor.

“The ideal technique is to eat from both ends,” Tamaki informed him.

They were both terrible at it, and things turned competitive, with Kyoya eventually managing to complete a perfect taco without spilling a single bite.

The sun was going down. The grass was cool and damp under Tamaki’s fingers. Shadows from the trees above drifted lazily across Kyoya’s face. Tamaki was reminded sharply of Ouran, of long days in the gardens, hiding in the hedge mazes and playing games for children.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Tamaki said.

Kyoya glanced at him, light flashing over his glasses briefly. “You seem to be enjoying school,” he said.

Tamaki plucked a handful of grass, throwing it guiltily to the wind. “I do...enjoy it,” he said. “Although I suppose I haven’t been applying myself as well as I should.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” said Tamaki. Then, at Kyoya’s hard look, he sighed. Knowing Kyoya, he probably already had some secret informant in the registrar’s office anyway. “I didn’t do as well as I hoped last quarter. If it goes on, I’ll probably be on academic probation soon.”

“There are tutors for that kind of thing,” said Kyoya. “But you’ve never needed…”

They were both thinking of how Tamaki’s top grades in high school always came effortlessly. Tamaki ran his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s no big deal,” he said. He hated to share his troubles and Kyoya knew that. He didn’t know why he’d brought it up at all.

Kyoya obligingly dropped the subject. They talked about other things, catching up about their old friends and going over their old memories. It went by so quickly and suddenly it was dark, the street lamps were coming on, Kyoya’s three hours were almost up. Tamaki found himself dreading it like a sick, lead weight in his stomach, the moment Kyoya would have to say goodbye.

Kyoya’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, then made an annoyed sound. “My flight is delayed.”

“Oh no!” said Tamaki, as sincerely as he could.

“Do you have plans for the evening?” Kyoya asked. “I don’t want to keep you.”

“I’m supposed to go to my friend’s party tonight...Do you want to come with me?”

Tamaki could see Kyoya internally weighing the comforts of fast WiFi in the first class lounge versus spending more time with him, and was surprised when Kyoya said, “All right. If it won’t be an inconvenience.”

“None at all!” Tamaki said, though he was curious. He couldn’t wait for Kyoya to meet all of his new friends, but he wasn’t sure how his old and new lives would meld. “We can walk to the party,” he said, pulling himself to his feet and offering Kyoya a hand up. They cleaned up their feast and set off through the warm spring night.

“So what was your meeting about anyway?” Tamaki asked.

“Just a project I’m working on. You know I’ve been taking on some responsibilities at the Ootori Group part time, during my studies.”

“A project for your father?”

Kyoya hesitated, weighing something, probably finding it too complicated to explain. “One of his old projects,” he said at last.

Before long they arrived at Tamaki’s friend’s house. Music was blaring into the street, crowds of students milling around in the front yard holding red solo cups.

Tamaki glanced at Kyoya. His friend’s eyes were wide, there was an almost imperceptible tension to the way he held himself. He looked like he might be deeply regretting his decision not to spend the next hour looking at spreadsheets in a comfortable airport wingback.

Tamaki had suspected rightly. Kyoya hadn’t been out for many raucous nights like this while living at home, always working. He wondered if Kyoya was doing much socializing outside of the office, if he ever did anything for his own enjoyment these days.

It was so rare to see Kyoya self conscious or out of his element. Tamaki bumped his shoulder. “Let’s stick close together! Come on.”

Kyoya followed him into the party. On Tamaki’s entrance, a series of cries went up as his many friends called his name.

Tamaki grabbed two shots off a tray, doing them both, and then handing one to Kyoya. He filled up two red cups of beer from the keg, handing one to his friend as well.

Then he slung his free arm over Kyoya’s shoulder, pulling him further into the party, heading toward the back door. Along the way almost everyone in sight crossed their path, demanding Tamaki’s attention and an introduction to his handsome friend. Kyoya stood out from everyone, dressed as he was, beautiful as he was, an unheard of creature, lovely and strange, a little frightening. Tamaki showed him off proudly.

Kyoya didn’t say much to anyone. Tamaki suspected that he was nervous of speaking with an accent. Even though Kyoya had impeccable English from school, he was the kind of relentless perfectionist who would probably always bring a translator to business meetings. 

But when the topic turned to free market capitalism, Kyoya couldn’t resist and got into a lengthy conversation with some economic doctoral students that left Tamaki feeling dizzy. 

Eventually they found their way into the room where the music was coming from. Crowds of people danced to glittering techno under flashing rainbow lights.

Kyoya stopped in his tracks. Tamaki turned to look at him.

“What are they doing?” asked Kyoya.

“Dancing,” said Tamaki.

For the host club, and in their etiquette lessons at Ouran, the two of them had learned every type of dancing except this one. The bump and grind dry humping type that took place at college parties. Tamaki excelled at it.

Kyoya, watching, had a horrified expression that Tamaki had never seen him exhibit before and it was completely fascinating.

“Kyoya...are you...embarrassed!” cried Tamaki.

“Of course not,” said Kyoya, shouting to be heard over the music, but not looking away from the spectacle in front of him.

“That’s adorable!!!!!!” Tamaki cried, pinching his cheek.

“Augh, get off me,” said Kyoya, murderous.

They pushed their way through the dancers into a kitchen, where people were gathered around the cases of alcohol, mixing drinks. One of Tamaki’s new friends came up to him and twined her fingers with his suggestively, ignoring Kyoya.

“Maybe I’ll see you later?” she whispered into Tamaki’s ear, and then disappeared elsewhere into the party.

Tamaki did one more shot of vodka in the kitchen and then led them both out to the back garden.

It was quiet and cool outside. There were lawn chairs set up, under strings of hanging lights, and Tamaki took one, Kyoya sitting down opposite him. Out here they could see the night sky.

“Who was that girl?” Kyoya asked. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, since Haruhi.”

“I don’t really know her,” said Tamaki.

“Oh,” said Kyoya.

 _Did Kyoya know what that was? Did Kyoya ever have sex?_ Tamaki wondered, unbidden. _And if so, what did that look like?_

The theatre of Tamaki’s mind couldn’t help playing the footage...Kyoya was so impossibly attractive, anyone would be desperate to have him. Tamaki imagined how delicious it would be, for someone, to drive Kyoya wild, to crack that wall of cool composure. To slide hands up his waist, to kiss the pale column of his throat, to make him gasp by tracing the line of his hip. To be touched, by Kyoya’s long, elegant fingers.

“So this is what you do now,” said Kyoya, faintly challenging, snapping Tamaki out of his thoughts. 

“Do?” asked Tamaki, heart beating fast, even though he was _fairly_ sure that Kyoya could not read minds.

Kyoya leaned forward. He smelled like expensive cologne, incredibly subtle, musk and vetiver. 

“Go to parties like this,” he said. “Drink...a lot.” He nodded meaningfully at the third refill Tamaki held in his hand.

“Oh, no, not that often,” Tamaki said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Depending on one’s definition of ‘often.’

Another song came on inside the house. Tamaki quickly identified “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” some sentimental person was playing eighties ballads.

“I love this song,” Tamaki said, to get the conversation onto a safer track. “I should learn to pick it out on the piano!”

“Do you play the piano much these days?” asked Kyoya.

“No,” Tamaki muttered. “I have one at my place but I’m not...there very often.”

“Where do you spend your time?”

 _Staying out, sleeping wherever someone will have me for the night_. Tamaki tried to laugh it off. “What’s with all the questions? Are you preparing a report on me now?”

But he could see Kyoya adding things up behind his eyes. Excessive drinking, partying, casual sex. Nearly failing out of school. Never spending the night at home, never even playing the piano.

_I’m floundering, drowning. Can you see it? Can you tell?_

“Do you like it here?” asked Kyoya.

“Yes, of course,” said Tamaki.

It was hard to admit. He did like it here. The school was amazing, the classes interesting, the people lovely. California was a stunningly beautiful place, all wild coastline and rolling golden hills. _But I want to go home_ , he thought, and then, deeper, worse, he thought _I don’t even know where that is_.

Home was a group of people scattered across the world, a music room, a school, a huge silent house where he rattled around alone, and the earliest one--a garden in France, truly loved, held tenderly, snatches of piano music echoing down long, empty halls.

Tamaki hadn’t seen his mother in five years. He sometimes wondered whether his mother was even still alive, whether she had ever loved him, whether she was even real, whether love was even real.

“I’m fine,” said Tamaki.

“Okay,” said Kyoya, quietly. He stood up suddenly and Tamaki stood up too. “My flight is leaving soon.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Tamaki offered. They pushed their way back through the swirling chaos of the party and ended up on the sidewalk out front. They stood together under a street lamp until Kyoya’s car pulled up at the curb.

“Here,” said Kyoya, pulling a neatly folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He handed it to Tamaki. When unfolded, it was a bright orange flyer. “I found this in the student union. Perhaps you should look into it.”

 _Semester abroad in Paris_ , it read. _All expenses paid work study opportunity in Paris under renowned economics professor Jean Jacques Beaufort. Undergraduate fluent French speakers preferred._

“Thanks,” said Tamaki. The flyer was so real. There was even a little hole at the top, a rip from where Kyoya supposedly pulled it off some bulletin board, randomly locating Tamaki’s dream opportunity on their erratic two hour tour of the school.

It was the type of unique, Ootori-level subterfuge that spoke of careful planning, deliberation, the foreknowledge of Tamaki’s unhappiness when Tamaki hadn’t sent anything but dog GIFs for the last three months. How had he known? Tamaki was so touched, he felt something raspy in his throat, making it hard to swallow.

“You always look out for me,” he said.

“I just found it spontaneously and thought it might interest you,” Kyoya maintained. “Anyway, take care.”

He turned to get into the car.

 _Don’t go_ , Tamaki thought.

And then, insanely, he thought about grabbing Kyoya. Holding onto him, to have something to hold onto. 

_I need you_ , Tamaki realized, and it was like a bomb going off in his brain, leaving him stunned, dazed, his vision whiting out. _You’re the only one I’ve ever needed_.

Tamaki had spent much of his life fulfilling people’s fantasies. He was good at identifying need in other people. But he was shocked to find it coming from within. 

He remembered his crush, his childhood crush on Haruhi, the way it felt like the end of the world every time she glanced at him, the way it was very loud and bright and extremely theatrical. The way he had made such a big deal of questioning the meaning behind every feeling.

 _This is not like that. What is this?_ Something as wide as the sky, something he couldn’t grasp the ends of in his mind, something that had been there so long and so quietly unobtrusive that he had never noticed it. But now that he had noticed, it was crystal clear, a beam of light, he knew, _he knew_.

“You should stay,” he said, to Kyoya’s retreating back. “You should come—come back to my place with me.”

Kyoya turned around. “Oh. I couldn’t,” he said.

 _Do you even know what that means_ , Tamaki wondered, as Kyoya looked back at him, his always calculating face strangely innocent. 

“I’d better get going,” Kyoya said. But then he reached out to touch Tamaki’s arm, and it was electrifying, five cool points on Tamaki’s bare skin. It was nothing, he was emphasizing his words, but it was so unusual, for him, this kind of casual contact.

“I’ll be back soon,” Kyoya said. “I’m working on something. And I think that when I get it right, it will make a big difference.”

Then Kyoya withdrew his hand, as though it was costing him something. He got into the car and shut the door.

As Kyoya pulled away, Tamaki found himself standing there, shellshocked by the last few minutes, and everything that he had just understood.

He had always been stupid and slow about knowing his own feelings. Now that the words were out of his mouth, he couldn’t believe he had said them. He felt like an idiot child who had just been handed a stick of dynamite.

You didn’t just _do_ that, you didn’t just _say_ things like that, you didn’t just proposition your best friend in the street the minute after you realized you had all these feelings inside. Nobody deserved that and especially, especially not him. How was this possible? Romance, the real kind, had always left Tamaki fumbling and tongue tied. How had he just... _asked_ like that?

Because, on some level, he knew what Kyoya would say. He had always known that, too. It was why Kyoya had never started anything himself.

Kyoya didn’t say, “No.” He didn’t say, “I have a flight to catch.” He didn’t say, “I don’t want to.” He said _I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t._

So that was that, then.

Tamaki imagined Kyoya sitting in the back seat of his car on the way to the airport, rolling his suitcase down the jetway, taking off and getting further and further away until he was just another speck of star in the moonless sky. Tamaki swallowed hard.

He made his way back into the party, and found the second handsomest young man there. He led the guy into the bathroom and they jerked each other off against the door, Tamaki hugging him close and whispering hot, filthy things in his ear. 

At the end, Tamaki gave him a gentle kiss and then pulled away, leaving the guy wide eyed, staring, dazed and satisfied. The guy had brown eyes. They always had brown eyes.


	3. Counter-offensive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slower updates on this fic! It’s turning out...longer than I thought! I meant this as kind of a casual B-sides to the previous fic but it’s taking on a life of its own and I love exploring Tamaki's inner life and thoughts in a more leisurely way, I hope you will enjoy it too. :)  
> I don't know if I will still be able to finish by end of October, but it shouldn't be long after. Thank you so much for reading! <3

_University, 2nd year, 20 years old_

Paris Paris Paris Paris, Tamaki’s heart was beating the whole way there. The wheels of the plane touched down on French soil like a sigh, a gasp of relief.

It wasn’t quite coming home. But it was a near thing. It was all wonderfully familiar, Tamaki thought, as he looked out the window of the taxi at the cobbled streets, the wrought iron railings, the light painting everything in sepia tones.

Springtime in Paris. He was so lucky to be here. So lucky that he had found that semester abroad program last year, passed the interview, got his grades up, made it here. He hadn’t wanted to take any short trips to France during high school, but to live here for months after being away so long sounded like heaven.

His grandmother hadn’t exactly approved, but it was for school, studying under a prestigious economist. His father had helped to convince her, he told Tamaki on the phone, in his just-between-us voice. Tamaki’s heart was light with gratitude. Everyone had been so kind to him, so helpful!

 _Especially Kyoya_ , Tamaki was reminded. Kyoya, who found the program in the first place and encouraged Tamaki to apply. Tamaki tapped his fingers idly on the window glass as Paris rushed by him. He would see Kyoya tomorrow. That was lucky too.

The car dropped him off at the furnished apartment he was renting in the Latin Quarter. The place had high ceilings, a beautiful parquet floor, and best of all an ancient little upright piano, set under the window where the buttery afternoon light streamed through. He felt something warm and content settle in his chest as he took it in.

Tamaki pulled back the filmy curtains and opened the window, breathing in the dewy, spring air. He took a shower in the old claw foot tub, and then fell into the freshly made bed. It was still light outside but he was so tired he thought he would sleep through until morning.

He pulled up Kyoya’s flight information on his phone. Everything was still on time, he noted with relief. In a few hours, Kyoya would be touching down in the same city. (Thinking about that made something flutter in the pit of Tamaki’s stomach.)

It hadn’t been easy to arrange. Kyoya was so elusive these days, and he had proven especially elusive this time, changing his trip dates at least twice. Tamaki had obligingly changed his arrival date to match. Twice. A third time would have been awkward.

In the last year, Kyoya had been for more meetings in San Francisco, but he’d only visited Tamaki once. That time they’d had dinner, during which Kyoya had been brief and businesslike, and Tamaki had made, probably, a lot of stupid and inane remarks as he struggled to control the fireworks going off in his chest whenever Kyoya looked at him.

To Tamaki’s eyes, that time, Kyoya had looked tired and stretched thin, working too hard. He kept going on about all the traveling he was doing, working on some secret biomedical project that he couldn’t go into details about.

Maybe he really was just busy. But Tamaki was fairly sure he knew why Kyoya was avoiding him. He cringed, when he thought of that night outside of the party, the desperation Kyoya must have heard in his voice, the unplanned words that had spilled out of his mouth.

 _But we can at least still be friends,_ he thought stubbornly. _It doesn’t have to be like this. Even if he can’t...if he doesn’t want to…_

He sighed and rolled over. He’d figure it out tomorrow. Winning people over--usually when they didn’t want to talk to him--was Tamaki’s specialty. He’d done it with every single one of his friends. The whole host club. When Tamaki cared about someone, he was good at smashing down the door until they let him in.

He would have an entire day to spend with Kyoya tomorrow, and he would figure out how to fix this. He closed his eyes, and he fell asleep with his phone in his hand, open to the map tracking Kyoya’s flight path.

He dreamed of the little blinking dot moving, floating like a firefly, coming closer and closer as it completed its long arc across the world.

~~~

10:00 a.m.

_Kyoya!_

10:01 a.m.

_Kyoya are you awake? I can’t wait to take you on a tour of my favorite sights in Paris._

10:02 a.m.

_Are we still meeting at your hotel at 10:30?_

10:10 a.m.

_I’m coming over! So excited to see you. It’s a beautiful day outside!_

10:30 a.m.

_I’m in the lobby!_

10:45 a.m.

_Now I’m having a croissant in the lobby cafe :)_

11:30 a.m.

_OMG Kyoya DID YOU KNOW THAT A CROISSANT IN FRANCE IS THE MOST DELICIOUS THING. BUT IS ALL THIS BUTTER GOING TO KILL ME?_

11:45 a.m.

_Kyoya, are you awake yet?? You’re not ditching me are you?????_

12:00 p.m.

_You’re probably still sleeping. I’ll see if I can charm the front desk person into telling me your room number._

12:15 p.m.

_It didn’t work! My charm is not what it used to be. :((((((_

12:30 p.m.

_Kyoya???_

~~~

There was a cafe in the palatial marble lobby of Kyoya’s five star hotel. Tamaki camped out at a small table there for most of the morning. He was anxious to see his friend, but he didn’t mind waiting, and he had suspected that meeting at 10:30 was ambitiously early.

It felt very French to while away the morning like this, to eat a croissant and drink coffee, flipping through the day’s Le Monde on the table. It was a good chance to prepare, too, for seeing Kyoya. Tamaki reminded himself sternly to act normal, to not make a big deal, and certainly not to do anything that would drive his best friend further away with awkwardness.

After an hour passed, Tamaki began to get anxious that Kyoya really was going to cancel. He found himself chewing on his lower lip, glancing more and more often at the elevator bank.

He was drinking his second cappuccino when he finally got a text back.

 _Shit_ , Kyoya responded. _I didn’t hear my alarm. I’ll be down in a few minutes._

Tamaki sent back seventeen thumbs up emojis. Then, one smiley with a party hat for good measure.

He ordered a black coffee, for Kyoya, and the waitress brought it back to him with a giggly wink, free of charge. Tamaki breathed a sigh of relief. Still some charm left after all.

A short while later, Kyoya arrived in the lobby cafe. He sat down at the table across from Tamaki and accepted the coffee gratefully when it was passed to him.

Tamaki was startled, this time, at Kyoya’s appearance. He looked absolutely exhausted. He’d clearly just woken up and there was a very strange, faintly rumpled air about him. His hair was still drying, sticking up a little in the back. Partly hidden behind his glasses, there were deep purple shadows under his eyes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, after he had downed half of the coffee in a single gulp. “Jet lag. I was in Dubai just last week. Then back to Japan. Now here.”

“I don’t mind,” Tamaki said. “By the way--you missed a button, on your shirt.”

“Oh.” Kyoya looked down to find it, flustered. “Sorry,” he said, completely unnecessarily, fumbling with the button.

“No big deal,” Tamaki said. “You look great! Remember in high school when we used to dress like Jpop stars?”

“You did that,” said Kyoya. “My outfits were always very practical.”

Tamaki snorted. 

“So what would you like to do today?” Kyoya asked. “It’s been a while since I had a day off.”

Tamaki had planned a dizzying itinerary of revisiting his favorite childhood Parisian sights, but seeing the state his friend was in, he thought better of it.

“Let’s just take it easy,” he said. “Get some lunch, sit in the park?”

 _Nap in the sun_ , he thought.

“All right,” Kyoya said.

Kyoya was staying in one of the stunning glass and marble hotels, built like white wedding cakes along the Champs-Élysées. As they walked down the street together, crowded with tourists and high end shoppers, Tamaki was flooded with memories of trips here as a child, tagging along at his mother’s heels, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume as she peered in at the shop windows.

They veered off into a side street and Tamaki found a boulangerie that he remembered, still in the exact same place. He bought a perfect baguette.

“I remember this bakery from when I was little! I recognized the green door and gold lettering,” he told the proprietor, and they conversed in rapid French for a while. He mentioned that he was on his way to a picnic, and she even went into the back to fetch a spare blanket for him. “So kind, merci!”

Kyoya watched their conversation intently, trying to parse the French words, in a way that made Tamaki flush. It was extremely rare to know something that Kyoya didn’t. It made Tamaki feel like he was showing off, and he thought it probably wasn’t good, how much he liked showing off for Kyoya.

At the market next door, Tamaki loaded them up with meats, cheeses, and early season strawberries. He thought about it briefly, then decided to indulge and bought a bottle of champagne. They made for the Jardin des Tuileries, where Tamaki laid out the blanket in the grass.

He popped the champagne, pouring it into paper supermarket cups.

“A toast! Together at last!” he said, and Kyoya grinned, and raised his cup.

“At last,” he said.

The bread was so delicious, that even Kyoya, always ascetic about the finer things, made a soft, delighted noise as he bit into it.

“What on earth are you going to do here?” Kyoya teased. “All these carbohydrates.”

Tamaki laughed. “Gain a lot of weight, I suppose, and be extremely happy. Or! Maybe growing up here gave me a high tolerance!”

“Perhaps,” said Kyoya, smiling, but his eyes on Tamaki were suddenly sharp. “And how are you finding it? Being back here?”

“I like it. It feels like the right thing. It’s...a little better here.”

Kyoya nodded. “Good.”

After they finished eating, Tamaki dragged their blanket further into the shade. They sat under the lightly whispering trees, chatting and watching a dog run after a frisbee across the park. Tamaki made whatever silvery observation popped into his head, and Kyoya responded with an astute remark or barbed retort, and it felt just right, just like things always had been, between them.

It was a stunningly beautiful afternoon, the sun drowsy, the sky cloudless. Kyoya kept yawning, from the jet lag, the cups of champagne. Tamaki launched into a long, uninteresting story in a soothing voice, and watched as Kyoya sank further and further into the blanket, into the grass below them, and fell asleep. Tamaki pulled his glasses off for him, gently. Kyoya tended to roll onto his side.

To pass the time, Tamaki pulled out one of the notebooks he’d bought for the trip. He was thinking he might keep some kind of travel diary. He’d even pasted sheet music paper in the back, in case he was inspired to write a little music. It was something he’d always thought about doing.

He wrote about his adventures of the day. Sketched a few of the interesting people in the park. Took one of the flowers that had fallen onto the nearby garden path to press.

After about an hour, the quiet was interrupted when Kyoya’s phone buzzed aggressively where it rested on the picnic blanket. Kyoya jerked awake, fumbling for it, lurching from peaceful sleep to frantic energy in a way that Tamaki thought probably couldn’t be healthy.

Kyoya squinted at the lock screen and frowned. Tamaki noticed the way he braced his hand against the ground, the way his jaw tightened.

“Hello. Yes,” he answered, in the clear, clipped, but slightly subservient tone that told Tamaki it could only be his father on the other end. “Yes, sir. The permits were already filed and the funding for the children’s ward is secured.”

He paused, listening with his whole body. “I heard about that. I know it could be a problem but I have a meeting with the bankers on Thursday. It’s all on schedule. I’ll take care of everything.”

Tamaki heard the line go dead, Kyoya’s father hanging up without a _good work_ or _goodbye_. Kyoya sighed and rubbed his eyes, fingers searching the picnic blanket for his glasses.

 _You'll take care of everything but there's no one to take care of you_ , Tamaki thought, and handed the glasses to him.

“Sorry,” Kyoya said. “I must have drifted off. I’m not very good company today.”

“I don’t mind, you’re on vacation. It’s your day off after all.”

“It's yours as well. But that’s kind of you,” Kyoya said, with a wry smile. “That was about the new hospital, a project I’m helping out with at the Ootori Group.”

“Is that what brings you here?”

“No, the hospital is in Japan. My biomedical project is based in the south of France now. But after this trip, I shouldn’t need to come check on things personally anymore.” He hesitated, as though catching himself saying something he shouldn’t. “I feel much more awake now. Where should we go next?”

They ended up walking to the Orangerie. Tamaki had fond memories of visiting with his mother. He hadn’t been back to the museum since its renovation. He told Kyoya about how the giant Monets had stunned him, when he was young.

The massive paintings were still stunning. He and Kyoya made a slow loop of the museum, drifting together and apart as they gazed at the artwork on display. They didn’t talk much, but Tamaki liked to look over from each impressionist work in front of him and know that Kyoya was still there, even as he passed in and out of sight.

As they were getting ready to leave, they took one final look at the huge canvases in the front room. Kyoya paused at one, all blues, drifting tree branches, reflections in water. Kyoya looked at it intensely, for a long time.

“What are you thinking about?” Tamaki finally asked, coming back around to him after circling the room.

Kyoya started, he hadn’t heard Tamaki coming, he must have been deep in his own thoughts. “I wonder how much these paintings would cost if brought to market. Just trying to price them.”

“You are not,” said Tamaki, a burble of laughter in his voice. “There is no way you’re thinking that. Aren’t you...moved? By the art?”

“I’m thinking of the year over year increase in its value.”

Tamaki was appalled. Even though he had some suspicion that Kyoya was just trying to get a rise out of him.

“Some—some things are priceless!” he sputtered.

“Everything has a price,” Kyoya said, smirking.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Tamaki, grabbing his arm. “Before you try to sell off any national treasures.” 

Outside, the light was fading. It was almost time for dinner. Tamaki was startled at how fast the day was going by. 

They walked towards the Louvre, crossed Pont Neuf, continued along the Seine past Sainte Chapelle. Tamaki didn’t have a particular destination in mind. The night was warm, soft and easy. People were coming out, filling the streets, picnicking on the banks of the river where flickering lights of boats passed by.

Tamaki chose one of the cafes along the riverbank randomly. It was bustling with other young people, tables spilling out onto the sidewalk. He and Kyoya got a table on the candlelit patio and Tamaki ordered them a bottle of wine.

There was a radio playing inside the restaurant, Tamaki recognized an old American song come on, Dolly Parton, “Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to You."

Heaping plates of food arrived, and Tamaki pressed delicacy after delicacy on his friend, the spring soup, the duck, the bread--so much bread. Every dish brought up some childhood memory, and Tamaki was excited to share them all, tripping over himself to tell all his stories to his attentive audience. Kyoya was a bit more rested and in good spirits, talking easily, even smiling--Tamaki loved to see him smile.

A couple took up residence at the table next to them, kissing each other passionately, ignoring their food.

“Wow, watch them go,” said Tamaki.

“Well, it is springtime in Paris,” said Kyoya, raising a glass to them. “What else do you expect young lovers to do?”

Tamaki gave him a sidelong look. _Young lovers_ , he thought.

All of a sudden, the couple broke apart, starting to speak to each other rapidly, then they started shouting. Kyoya looked at Tamaki for a translation.

“She’s saying ‘How can you do this to me? I’ve given everything to you. I would die for you. Do you even believe in love?’”

Kyoya started laughing. “This is the most Parisian thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, as the girl in question threw her napkin at her companion’s head, and he responded on his knees with a heartfelt plea.

“How can you laugh?!” Tamaki asked. “You know we can’t leave a lady in distress! We should help them!”

“They’re kissing again,” observed Kyoya.

“Ah,” said Tamaki. “Romance!”

After they had finished a second bottle of wine between them, Tamaki paid the bill and they found themselves on the street in front of the restaurant. It was getting late, but Tamaki couldn’t stand for the evening to end. He thought Kyoya was having a good time too. It had been a lovely day, not a bit awkward. Tamaki congratulated himself on an excellent performance.

Then, he said, “Do you want to come back and see my new apartment?”

 _Why?_ he immediately screamed at himself. _Why why why did you do that._ He had no idea. The alcohol, the beautiful night, the way Kyoya looked like the brightest and most vivid thing against a backdrop of tea colored buildings and dark streets. The way he could never leave anything alone, when he thought he knew the right answer.

Kyoya looked back at him, mildly. “All right,” he said.

Which made Tamaki’s heart stutter in his chest, which made him question everything about what Kyoya knew, or didn’t know, what he thought, or didn’t think.

They walked back to Tamaki’s place together, and as they walked Tamaki began to realize that Kyoya was fairly drunk. He was talking, a lot more than usual. Not about anything in particular, but it was rare for him to volunteer information about himself, to offer his opinions on anything unsought.

They stumbled together up the two flights of stairs to Tamaki’s apartment.

Kyoya looked around, at the antique furniture, the dusty bookshelves, the cheerful little kitchen with the bright blue oven. Tamaki had left the window open, so that the night air, and the smell of geraniums from the flower box below, drifted in.

“It’s very...you,” Kyoya pronounced the place, when he’d taken a look around. “It suits you.”

Tamaki beamed at him.

“Does the piano work?” Kyoya asked. “I haven’t heard you play anything in a while.”

Tamaki hadn’t tried it, but he sat down obligingly at the piano bench and Kyoya took a seat on the sofa behind him. 

Tamaki played a few scales, found that it was reasonably in tune. He started to play "La Vie en Rose" from memory. He worried at first that his drunk fingers would slip, but then, Kyoya was watching, so he knew that he wouldn’t miss a single note. He felt Kyoya’s eyes on him the whole time, so strongly it was almost like being touched. When he finished the song, the room was very quiet, the last note echoing.

“Cliché,” said Kyoya, fondly. Tamaki turned around to face him and his breath caught. Kyoya was looking at him, and there was so much hunger naked on his face, his eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed, his lips wine-red. 

_How can you look at me like that, and expect me to do nothing about it?_ Tamaki thought helplessly. But he had to wait. He had to wait, he didn’t know yet what Kyoya wanted.

He got up from the piano bench and went to the couch, where he flopped down melodramatically on his back, resting his head inches away from Kyoya’s lap. “How can you say that?” he demanded, mimicking the lover’s quarrel from the restaurant. “Do you even believe in love?”

Kyoya laughed softly. “Of course not. A construction of hormones and the mind, transactional in nature.”

“Such a cynic,” Tamaki sighed.

“Everything has a price.”

“That’s what you said in the Orangerie. Some things are priceless. You know, the building was built around those paintings. They’re never going anywhere.”

Kyoya smiled. He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the sofa. “In the museum, earlier. I was thinking about what a painting like that would look like to a child. The kind of impression it would have made...I’m glad that you had such a happy childhood here. You don’t talk about it very often. It was nice to hear more about it today.”

Kyoya’s face was distant and pale, glowing above him. _You’re the loveliest thing in the world_ , Tamaki thought. He didn’t say anything. He hoped to draw out Kyoya’s rare talkative mood. Eventually his patience was rewarded.

“I sometimes wish I had memories like that. Or that I could...make them. I haven’t had the time, since the host club, to explore or travel or...or anything.”

He sighed. “That’s not true, I guess. I’m always traveling. I barely ever know where I am. What time zone I’m in. I get so tired sometimes. But I can never sleep. I have sleeping pills, for emergencies, but these days every day is an emergency. My mind is always going. I can’t rest easily, I never know when I’ll be home or which way home even is.”

“I know what you mean,” Tamaki said.

Kyoya glanced at him. “Sometimes I wish things could be different. I know it’s not practical. It’s foolish. But sometimes I think there are things I would do, if it was...if I were...but I can’t. And there’s no point dwelling on it.”

“Kyoya,” Tamaki said. “Can I--do you want--” he reached up, brought a hand to rest on his friend’s knee.

Kyoya jerked back from him, almost violently.

Tamaki could see the flash of the child in him, then, the wary look, the boy who always got his hand smacked away when asking for what he wanted. Raised to fall in line, by the kind of father who would hit him, in front of a crowd of people, for embarrassing the family. For not living a prearranged life.

 _You want me to,_ he realized. _And you don’t._

Tamaki thought of himself as a child, too, sitting at the top of the stairs, his father leaving after yet another short business trip.

 _But Maman, why is he never with us?_ he asked.

He remembered the way his mother caught his father at the door, her gentle voice, her lavender skirt, the way his father’s face was already half-turned to leave, _You love him so much, why won’t you allow yourself to be with him?_

“I should go, actually,” Kyoya said. “I have an early flight to catch.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” Tamaki mumbled, pulling himself to his feet.

He didn’t know when he would see Kyoya again. They walked down the stairs together and stood in front of Tamaki’s building.

“Kyoya,” Tamaki said. “I wish you didn’t have to go. I wish you could stay with me. Even—even for a night.”

Kyoya looked like he was warring with himself. Finally he said, “I know things have been difficult and lonely. I have to go—I have more work to do. But I know that things will get better soon.”

Tamaki couldn’t think of anything else to say. Could Kyoya really not know what he meant? Did he just not allow himself to know?

He thought, _Is this another one of those things? Something we’ll always mean to do but never really will?_

Kyoya had been in too many western business meetings lately. Tamaki could tell, because Kyoya instinctively offered a handshake goodbye, and then pulled back at the last second, on realizing it. But Tamaki smiled, and reached out to take his outstretched hand. When they touched, Tamaki felt the world go still, even though he could hear the rush of traffic, the laughter of drunk students stumbling down the street, the cooing of night birds in the trees. Everything was so still, both of them just stood there for a moment, and then a moment too long, not shaking. It was almost holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh the inverse of And So Kyoya Met Him (Again) chapter 6. The time Tamaki almost does, but doesn't. My thought process on this fic is that it's a story of wistful almost-times, and the tries it takes to make love work. Hope you are enjoying it though it's a bit different. The "eventual smut" tag still holds true, though I did decide to also add a "slow burn" since the words are piling up :p 
> 
> Apologies to any Parisians reading this! I hope it was an accurate enough representation of one of my favorite and most beloved cities! The argument between the couple in the restaurant is something I actually witnessed the last time I was there and the Parisian I was with at the time called it "peak Paris" lol.


	4. Armistice

_Gap year (February), 22 years old_

Tamaki had been wandering around Haneda airport for over an hour, trying to figure out what he was going to do. He was exhausted. The flight from France to Tokyo had been very long and he hadn’t slept at all. 

He didn’t mind most parts of his new commoner lifestyle, but the tiny, third class seats on airplanes were definitely unacceptable and inhumane. He was six feet tall after all, and he barely fit! His knees had bumped against the seat in front of him for the entire trip, and he’d had to hold his elbows close against his sides to keep from disturbing the other passengers.

He tried to breathe life back into his long limbs by walking, but he was so tired. The straps of his huge backpack dug into his shoulders and weighed him further down.

Tamaki had always been more of a dreamer than a planner. He didn't usually mind that about himself. But as he walked in circles around the airport, realizing that he had no idea where to go next, he was beginning to think that maybe coming here had been too impulsive, even for him.

Two days ago, he had figured out the truth about what Kyoya had done for him. He’d booked a plane ticket for Tokyo the same day. He hadn’t wanted to come back here, he had thought he might never come back. It took all of his strength and resolve to get onto the plane and now he was here.

He had vaguely imagined that he would arrive in Tokyo, get on the metro, show up at Kyoya’s door, see his face for the first time in almost three years, and say, “Thank you for saving my mother’s life.”

That had seemed like enough of a plan, at the time. Now it seemed ridiculous. _You’ve been an idiot again,_ he could practically hear Kyoya shouting at him, from across the years.

First of all, he had no idea where Kyoya even lived these days. Still at home with his family? Probably not. With...someone else? Maybe. Tamaki hadn’t seen anything about that in the news, but Kyoya would keep such a thing incredibly private if it existed.

Secondly, now that he was thinking about it, he didn’t exactly have proof of his theory. He’d looked into it, of course he’d suspected for a long time. It all aligned too perfectly, his mother’s miraculous recovery, Kyoya’s secret project based in the south of France, the promises that things would get better, the way they had gotten better. He asked his mother, the doctors, he researched the treatment and the companies responsible online. There was no connection, and he began to feel like maybe he was going crazy, seeing shadows that weren’t there.

Then, two days ago, one of the doctors had mentioned casually that they were going to start giving the treatment at a brand new hospital, the name of it not yet released. A hospital in Japan. Kyoya had been working on a brand new hospital.

It was the kind of thing that Kyoya would have appreciated, synergy, two uses for one thing, hiding a selfless act in something that benefited him. 

_He did that, he changed the world, for me. If he would do that, if he would do that, maybe he would..._

It had kept Tamaki awake all night, fevered and turning over in his sheets with the need to act. He needed to say what he knew. But now that he thought about it in the cold light of day, it seemed presumptuous. He was assuming too much. What if it had all been his imagination after all?

Thirdly, there was the matter of what to do after he made his little speech on Kyoya’s doorstep. That was as far as he’d gotten. How did he expect Kyoya to respond?

Appearing suddenly after his long absence would be strange enough. But add on an emotional confession--he would probably cry, god, or worse, just finally do what he’d wanted to do for years and grab Kyoya by the collar and pull him forward and--Kyoya would probably slam the door in his face.

It wasn’t good. He needed a better plan.

Tamaki stopped in at the airport bathroom to wash his hands. He splashed water on his face and looked at himself briefly in the mirror. He was a mess. He needed to shave, he needed a haircut, he looked haggard, he needed to sleep for at least a day. Would Kyoya still look at him the way he used to?

 _Probably not,_ Tamaki thought scornfully. _Why should he?_

Tamaki had kept track of his old friend during their years apart. He’d set up news alerts on his phone, and saw that Kyoya was mentioned often for his business successes. He was a Senior Vice President now, at the Ootori Group. His name often appeared in articles related to company earnings calls, corporate buyouts, brilliant investments that paid huge dividends.

Tamaki sometimes looked at Kyoya’s photo on the Ootori Group website. The picture next to his staggering list of achievements was rigid, beautiful, presidential.

It suddenly felt insurmountable, Kyoya’s meteoric rise, his own long fall into obscurity.

Tamaki found a place to sit in one of the airport cafes, watching the planes take off, wondering if he should be on the next one out of here. Eventually, he thought he had an idea of what to do.

He would see Haruhi first. That would be easier. Haruhi would understand. She would help him get cleaned up and give him a place to crash. She would have questions, but they would be the kinds of questions he was equipped to answer. 

He knew where to find Haruhi. She was easier to keep track of than Kyoya. She regularly sent email updates to the host club group thread. She’d gotten into a top law school--Tamaki’s heart had almost burst with pride for her, when he’d seen that, and he’d wanted so badly to respond and congratulate her.

In the end he hadn’t. He hadn’t responded to anyone, in a little over a year. It had been a happy year for him, it had been what he needed. But he knew he was disappointing people, abandoning his duty, his responsibilities, half of his family. He hated to disappoint people, he hated not to be pleasing. It was easier to just disappear.

Haruhi would understand, though. He knew. She was so kind. She had that straightforward empathy that would let her see to the heart of what he had done.

She was also working as a teaching assistant at the law school. She had office hours today, he found, after a few minutes of research on his phone. He would go to the school and wait for her, meet her there.

The plan solidified. Tamaki boarded the metro. It felt strange and dreamlike, to be back in Japan, to hear the familiar language around him again, his brain switching tracks to read the characters he hadn’t seen for so long.

He watched the sprawl of Tokyo flow by through the window, so bright and bustling, alive. He was still tired, but seeing this city again energized him, kept him awake long enough to make it to the right stop.

It was still too early to see Haruhi. He found a small park, across the street from her law school. To pass the time, he wandered around. There was a little rose garden. The flowers were trimmed, resting for the winter, but still beautiful. Life waiting to push through.

Tamaki found a bench to sit on for a while. He thought he probably shouldn’t. He was so exhausted, he thought that if he sat down for even a minute he might fall asleep.

He pulled his phone out to distract himself. As he sometimes did, he revisited the messages that Kyoya had sent him in their years apart. They hadn't actually seen each other since that time in Paris, but Tamaki had still been responding to messages here and there, for the first two years. 

When Tamaki returned from his semester abroad, he had a growing list of responsibilities, more to read and learn about running the Suoh Group. His every hour became more scheduled. He didn’t know how Kyoya had done anything close to all of the work involved, on top of school, and his time consuming side project.

Tamaki began to understand, as his own workload increased, that maybe Kyoya hadn't been avoiding him. Perhaps he truly didn’t have the time to maintain his friendships, and maybe he never would again.

When Tamaki left school last year to see his mother, against his Grandmother's wishes, he had stopped responding to anyone. After a while, everyone else had taken the hint. They’d slowly stopped sending anything. Kyoya was the only one who occasionally tried.

At first, he’d sent the same messages as everyone else.

_Haven’t heard from you in a while._

_Where are you?_

_Are you okay?_

One voicemail, which Tamaki had saved and still listened to, now and then, not wanting to forget that particular timbre of his voice, the pacing of his words.

“Tamaki,” Kyoya said in the voicemail. A sigh. A rustling sound (Tamaki had debated this endlessly with himself. Was it the sound of Kyoya turning over in bed? Taking off his coat after coming home late at night? Pulling back a curtain to look out the window?). “I’m just calling to see if you’re all right. Even though I don’t agree with what you’re doing, and it’s certainly not in my own best interests, I want to tell you that...I understand. What’s the Sun Tzu quote? ‘He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious.’ I hope you’ll get in touch if you need to.”

His tone was distant and formal to underlie the kindness of his words.

After that, Kyoya sent exclusively photos with no captions. He sent a picture of that year’s cherry blossoms, from his family estate. A snowfall over the East Imperial Garden. A view of the sunset over the Tokyo skyline--from the office Tamaki guessed, high above it all, somewhere in Marunouchi. A furtive photo of Antoinette, probably snapped during one of the shareholder dinner parties at Tamaki’s father’s house. 

Tamaki never responded, but he looked at the photos often, scrolling through them as his gallery grew, his thumb resting over each view through Kyoya’s eyes.

In the last year he’d looked at the messages at his lowest points, and at his highest. He’d looked every time his father called, hoping to smooth things over. He’d looked while traveling on trains, while staying in lonely hostels. He’d looked sitting beside a canal in Venice, waiting for his new friends outside a nightclub in Berlin.

It was a silly habit, but it reminded him that Kyoya was still out there. It was comforting, like knowing the moon was still on the other side of the world.

As Tamaki scrolled through the photos now, he felt his eyes getting so heavy.

The hard bench was becoming disturbingly comfortable underneath him. He thought maybe he could get away with resting here, for just a little bit. He set an alarm on his phone for twenty minutes, and allowed his eyes to drift closed.

He dreamed of the last conversation he’d had with his mother, before he left for the airport. They were in the green-tiled kitchen of her little villa on the French Riviera. Not quite home, but it was the closest thing, and they were together. That was all that mattered.

Music was playing in the background. Sam Cooke crooned “You’re Always On My Mind,” and his mother hummed along, swaying as she made breakfast.

“Would you like a café au lait, my love?” she called over her shoulder.

Tamaki felt it like a knife between his ribs, how lucky he was to have this, how different things could have been. He’d spent so many years imagining her as he’d last seen her, sick in bed, too sick to talk, too sick to move, he’d thought he would never see her again.

“Yes,” he said. “Please.”

She finished up and came to sit across from him at the table, her golden hair falling from where it had been carelessly pinned up, her small wrists peeking out of a thick, beige sweater. She smiled at him, over the rim of her coffee mug. So real. Right there before him.

“Why did you wait for him?” Tamaki had asked. “All these years.”

She knew what he meant. He was going back to see his father, she must have assumed.

“I shouldn’t have,” she said. “I love him. But I shouldn’t have. I should have gone there, and shown him how I felt. I should have tried to make things different.”

Tamaki felt the sting of it, for her, for himself. “Even if he wouldn’t defy his family for you?”

“I guess I’ll never know,” she’d said, and patted his hand.

They didn’t say anything else about it. But as Tamaki was leaving, getting into the taxi for the airport, she hugged him tightly, enveloped him in a cloud of her perfume, and said into his ear, “Better to have tried.”

Tamaki woke with a start. It was so cold, much colder here than it had been in the south of France. There were footsteps approaching him, someone was coming up the path through the park. He blinked his eyes a few times blurrily.

Kyoya was there. It didn’t make any sense. Tamaki struggled to understand, to take it in. Kyoya also looked shocked. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. _How?_

But he was there. Solid, real. Like a sign, like the kindest gift from an unforgiving universe.

He looked a little older, more serious, but the years melted away when Tamaki looked at him closely. He was the same.

 _You don’t know what you’ve given me,_ Tamaki thought, and everything he felt inside seemed on the verge of tumbling out, but it was too much, too hard to explain, it was everything.

From Tamaki’s very first embrace with his mother, when she met him at the door, something broken inside him had started healing.

During his time with her, he had become himself again. He spent long days lying in the sun with Hachibei, reading or listening to music or writing in his notebook. He helped his mother in the garden, feeling the growing things under his fingers. He learned to cook with her, stirring the batter as he had when he was a child, reliving the fragrant smells from the oven. He listened to his mother play Schubert in the low light after dinner.

It felt like recovering from a long illness, slowly coming back to life. He’d had years of carrying this pain around with him, always wondering if he had made the right decision, if he would have to live with leaving his mother behind in what might have been her final hours, of wasting years he could have spent with her.

She had more time. He had more time with her. He didn’t have to wonder anymore. 

It was all thanks to him.

“Kyoya!” Tamaki exclaimed, springing to his feet. “It really is you!”

Kyoya pulled back, like he was getting ready to shy away. _Not this time,_ Tamaki thought. _Not this time._ Tamaki embraced him. Kyoya stood still, and allowed himself to be held.


	5. What We Fight For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is the E rated chapter.

_Gap year (March), 22 years old_

Tamaki woke to the sound of water running in the bathroom. He sat up in bed. _In Kyoya’s bed._

Nine days had passed since Kyoya had invited Tamaki from the couch into his bedroom. Nine days. Before that, one terrible week of piano playing, while Kyoya sorted out how he felt after they slept together. That had been difficult. But in the end, Kyoya had relented, and now Tamaki was in Kyoya’s bed.

Tamaki felt like an explorer, on the edge of something vast. He felt like a gardener with a first precious bloom, holding it carefully and shielding it from the wind. There were times, in the last few days, when he would be doing something perfectly normal, sitting next to Kyoya on the couch, standing in the elevator with him, and he’d realize that Kyoya was finally within reach, that he had a tacit permission to touch him, to be with him, to see him in a way that nobody else was allowed to. It made Tamaki feel dizzy, delirious, like he was falling over the side of a building. He wondered if Kyoya felt the same way.

But Tamaki knew that he couldn’t be the one to ask. Kyoya seemed reluctant to discuss it. And over many years, Tamaki had learned the rules of this game.

Light came from underneath the bathroom door. Kyoya’s side of the bed was still warm. 

The bed was large and soft, the bedroom decorated in cool blues. Tamaki remembered the first night, after they had reconciled and Kyoya led him into the bedroom.

“It’s quite sparse and impersonal,” Kyoya had said. “Not to your taste.”

He watched Tamaki closely.

Tamaki laughed and flopped down on the bed.

“I think I’ll be comfortable here,” he’d said. But honestly—now that he had slept in this room for nine days, he thought the place could use a little brightening up! Maybe some flowers or at least some pictures! Maybe with time...they could make this room more their own.

Kyoya came to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. He was mostly dressed, still in his shirtsleeves, halfway through creating a windsor knot in his tie with practiced hands.

“Is it already 6:30?” Tamaki asked. “It’s still dark outside.”

He was learning Kyoya’s morning routine--the furious, sleepy groan at his 6 a.m. alarm, the wild bedhead, the three consecutive ten minute snoozes.

“No,” Kyoya said. “I have an early meeting. I didn’t want to wake you.”

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and returned with a cup. He handed it to Tamaki. It was mouthwash. Tamaki rinsed and spat into the cup. Kyoya took it from him, then leaned down and kissed Tamaki on the lips.

Tamaki melted into it, still mostly asleep. Kyoya tasted like toothpaste and he smelled like expensive, cedary aftershave. He hadn’t put his glasses on yet. His face looked softer and younger, blinking nearsightedly at Tamaki when he pulled back.

“So prepared,” said Tamaki, nodding at the cup. “Such foresight. But were you prepared for this?” he asked, as he snaked his hand over Kyoya’s crisp shirtfront and down the front of his pants.

“Mpfh!” said Kyoya, pushing his hand away, but he was smiling. “None of that. I have to get to the office.”

Kyoya went to rinse out the cup in the sink.

“I was going to make something for dinner!” Tamaki called after him. “If you’ll be back?”

Kyoya glanced at him as he headed into the massive walk-in closet. Tamaki heard him rummaging and then sliding something off of a hanger. “Yes. I’ll be back at 7.”

“Early for you,” Tamaki noted.

There was a pause. “I’m not particularly busy this week.”

Tamaki couldn’t help the pleased little grin that appeared on his face, but luckily Kyoya wasn’t in the room to see it. Kyoya emerged from the closet wearing his suit jacket, looking sharp and polished in a way that Tamaki immediately wanted to muss and destroy.

He stood over Tamaki awkwardly for a moment. “Well,” he said. “Have a good day.”

Tamaki grabbed his tie, and pulled him down, and kissed him for a long time.

~~~

After Kyoya left for the office, Tamaki slept until a decent hour and then he pulled up an address on his phone, bundled up, and went outside.

It was spring again. The most beautiful spring, Tamaki thought, of his life. It was still cold, but brightly sunny. Early blossoms were just tentatively unfurling in the trees. The sky was a brilliant, eager blue.

Tamaki boarded the metro. He took the train for almost an hour and transferred twice to get to a little shop on a quiet side street. It was practically in the suburbs, hidden on the edge of a small park.

He entered the bakery, inhaling the heavenly smell of freshly baked bread. He’d read the reviews and looked at all the pictures. He was hopeful this time. When he tried the sample, he knew that he had found the one.

“This is the best baguette I’ve tried in Tokyo! It reminds me of where I grew up,” he told the shopkeeper earnestly.

“How sweet you are,” she said. She handed him one. “This is fresh from the oven.”

“Ah! Thank you! This one is perfect.”

She laughed. “That smile! It must be for someone special.” She pressed an extra sticky bun into his hands.

On the way back to Kyoya’s place, Tamaki stopped at the market to buy ingredients for soup and a charcuterie board. He carried his basket up and down the aisles, smiling at a young mother, helping an elderly lady lift a melon into her cart.

He was standing in the middle of the grocery store, his arms full of cheese and grapes and pâté, when he caught himself staring at a tower of potatoes for a little too long, wondering _Is this right? Is this all we need? Will this be enough?_

He went to pay, placing his basket on the counter with a bit more force than necessary, and thought, _Yes. Yes, it has to be._

After he dropped the groceries off at Kyoya’s apartment, Tamaki spent the afternoon volunteering at the hospital. He had been coming back a few times per week to teach piano in the children’s ward.

His pupils and their parents brought him precious gifts--handmade cards, small figurines, gift shop candies. He loved teaching them, exclaiming over their progress. It felt nice to be able to do something small for them, when he knew that Kyoya was working day and night to make sure they got the best care available.

When he finished with his volunteer hours, Tamaki met Haruhi for coffee. He convinced her to try the sakura themed spring latte and she, of course, hated it.

“This is so sweet. It’s disgusting. I can’t believe you got Kyoya to drink one of these. How are you still alive after that?”

“You know I have my ways!”

Haruhi’s eyes lifted briefly from her drink. “Hmm,” she said, but she didn’t press for more. She changed the subject. “Are you going to that masked ball at the end of the month, Kyoya’s family thing?”

“Yes! He got me the anonymous invitation I asked for. Oh! We also got tickets to that digital art museum this weekend. Do you want to come with us?” 

She made a face. “I thought Kyoya said that ‘museum’ was a frivolous Instagram trap.”

“No Haruhi!! It’s a special multi sensory experience and light show! He said he wanted to go.”

Haruhi smiled a strange smile. “You’ve really worked your magic on him,” she said. “Haven’t you?” 

~~~

Tamaki gave Kyoya’s private chef the evening off. The household staff had been getting a lot of time off lately. Tamaki wondered if they thought anything about the untouched bedding on the couch, the second toothbrush that had moved into the master bathroom, the phone charger that had appeared on the nightstand to the left of the bed.

Tamaki made soup, sliced the bread, put together a cheese board. As the sun was starting to get low in the sky, he listened for the sound of Kyoya’s key in the door.

“In the kitchen!” he called, when Kyoya arrived.

Tamaki heard Kyoya making his way through the apartment, setting down his briefcase, hanging up his coat. Kyoya came around the corner. He stood against the counter, watching as Tamaki put the finishing touches on dinner, looking like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Tamaki turned around and handed Kyoya a bowl of soup and Kyoya smiled a crooked, lopsided sort of smile that was so charming, so unusual for him, unpoised and unplanned.

 _He looks happy_ , Tamaki thought. He had known Kyoya to be happy before, but never to look it, never to allow it to show on his face without reason.

They took their dinner into the dining room. Kyoya ate almost all of the bread.

“How was your day?” Tamaki asked.

“Good, the bankers agreed to our terms. I just have to finish some things up tonight.”

It was comfortable and warm, just the two of them in the big, empty apartment. It smelled like French cooking and Tamaki had a sudden feeling of déjà vu, that feeling he had of being in his mother’s house. At ease, secure. Kyoya also made him feel like himself.

 _This could be my life,_ he thought. _Our life? This could be a life._

After dinner, they moved into the solarium and Tamaki played the piano while Kyoya typed away on his laptop. Tamaki had been working his way through the Chopin nocturnes. It was nice to play for an audience, even though Kyoya was focused on his work, only half-listening.

Tamaki concentrated deeply. Sometimes he got into a flow state, forgot everything else in the room. That was when he played at his best. He felt it happening, his fingers racing ahead of his mind, his body relaxed, this was when he could play with emotion, but also control.

When he came out of it to flip through his sheet music, he glanced at where Kyoya was sitting in one of the armchairs across the room. Kyoya was watching him.

Kyoya wasn’t expecting Tamaki to stop, to look up, so his expression was undisguised. He was watching in that way that he did, when he thought Tamaki didn’t know. _But I know,_ Tamaki thought, _I’ve known for a long time._

Tamaki stood up. He went to stand over Kyoya.

“I should finish this,” Kyoya said feebly, gesturing at his laptop.

“You don’t look like you’re working very hard to me.”

Tamaki leaned down, closed the laptop, and set it aside. Then he took its place, easing himself down onto Kyoya’s lap. Kyoya’s arms circled his waist, slowly, instinctively. Tamaki took off Kyoya’s glasses for him, setting them aside.

Tamaki leaned forward, his lips close to Kyoya’s, their noses almost touching. Not a kiss. Just a breath, just a suggestion. He waited to see what Kyoya would do. Kyoya closed the distance, shifted up, covered Tamaki’s mouth with his own.

They kissed for a while. Tamaki’s hands started roaming down the front of Kyoya’s shirt. Then came to rest against his belt buckle. Tamaki unzipped Kyoya’s dress pants and started palming him through his underwear.

Kyoya made a light, breathy noise. “So, mmm ah impatient. You can’t wait until we get--get to the bedroom?”

Tamaki kissed Kyoya harder, fiercely, pushing him back against the armchair. He thought, _you have no idea how long I’ve waited._

Then he pulled himself away. “Fine,” he growled.

He’d been thinking about just getting on his knees and sucking Kyoya off in the armchair where he sat, but the bedroom sounded good too. He gave Kyoya’s ear a final nip before standing up and leading him through the apartment.

When they got to the bedroom, Tamaki took his time. He unbuttoned Kyoya’s shirt, he undid his tie slowly. Tamaki loved this dance. Kyoya let himself be undressed, leaving his trousers and socks on the floor. 

They’d done this a few times now but they were still learning. Tamaki sensed Kyoya’s anxiety, but also his eagerness. Their eyes met. Tamaki pressed a light kiss, reassuring, against Kyoya’s shoulder as he tugged to pull off Kyoya’s underwear.

Kyoya settled onto the bed, still, watching, as Tamaki stripped off his own clothes.

It was getting dark outside. Light from the hall spilled in, but the room was mostly in shadow. Tamaki had learned that Kyoya didn’t like to turn on the lights. But Kyoya was very pale--too much time in front of blue screens, not enough sunlight--and he stood out against the dark bedsheets, luminous.

Every single thing about Kyoya’s body drove Tamaki insane, now that it had been revealed. Kyoya was incredibly handsome by any standards--he’d always had a stunning figure and beautiful face, but that wasn’t it. It was the way he held himself, that imperious half-tilt of his head, the smooth expanse of his skin, the way he could be naked but there was so much more of himself beneath the surface, still not revealed.

Tamaki climbed on top of Kyoya. He kissed his neck the way he had learned that Kyoya loved, and was rewarded with a pleased noise. He started to kiss his way down Kyoya’s body, over the sharp jut of his collarbones, the muscles of abdomen. Kyoya was quiet below him but there was the sound of a sharp inhale when Tamaki’s mouth landed just below his navel. 

Tamaki felt Kyoya’s fingers run through his hair and over his shoulders. So light, they were barely there, but it still sent a shiver down Tamaki’s spine.

Tamaki had shared his body with quite a few people, but it had never felt like this. Kyoya touched Tamaki with such reverence. He still hesitated, sometimes, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Tamaki licked a playful stripe over Kyoya’s already hard dick, and was satisfied to feel Kyoya’s fingers dig into his shoulders harder.

“Mm!” he heard, above him, before he took the whole length into his mouth.

Tamaki knew that he was good at this. He knew where to put his hands, how to use his tongue, the right amount of suction and easing off. He’d done it plenty of times, as a fun but meaningless act.

Now, though, knowing he was doing this to Kyoya, hearing Kyoya gasp and sigh, feeling him jolt then struggle to hold his hips still, the way he looked and felt and smelled, so familiar and at the same time so new, it meant something.

Tamaki pulled off. “Do you want me to--?”

He grabbed the lube out of the nightstand drawer and Kyoya nodded. He’d learned that Kyoya liked to be touched, during.

Tamaki moved Kyoya’s legs up over his shoulders. It was always an awkward thing to do.

“Don’t kick me this time,” Tamaki said to break the tension, and Kyoya laughed.

“Don’t startle me, then,” he said.

Tamaki coated his fingers and then lightly circled a few times, before slipping one inside. Kyoya groaned as Tamaki took his cock back in his mouth.

Tamaki sucked and nuzzled, at the same time twisting and prodding with his fingers, stretching experimentally. The more they did this, the more Tamaki knew the limits, the longer he could draw it out. He loved to draw it out. He liked to push Kyoya to the brink. He liked to make Kyoya feel so good that he forgot to worry, forgot to think, forgot his own name.

 _I’m the only one who knows you like this_ , Tamaki thought, though in many ways, that had always been true. 

Tamaki had three fingers inside him and he thought maybe Kyoya was getting close, tensing up.

“Wait,” said Kyoya.

Tamaki pulled back, withdrawing. He wiped some spit off his chin and looked up at Kyoya’s face.

Kyoya’s eyes cut away. He licked his lips, nervous. “Would you want...would you want to--again, like we did it in the hotel?”

Tamaki hesitated. They’d used their mouths and hands and gotten each other off spectacularly since the hotel, but they hadn’t done it that way since the first drunken, out of control time.

Tamaki couldn’t help thinking of that time as a bad mistake that he was still making up for. He hoped it was good, he wanted it to be so good, he wanted to remember everything.

But it had all happened too fast, a series of coincidences, his stupid hotel key card that didn’t work, that extra cocktail at the host club, the way Kyoya looked at him, sidelong, in the low light of the bar and Tamaki just _knew._

They’d done it, and Tamaki couldn’t take it back, do it over, do it right. Seeing tears on Kyoya’s face, during, had been the most terrifying moment of his life. Tamaki had never gone slower, been more gentle, but he remembered his own first time doing that. It had hurt before it felt good and he probably wasn’t ready for it. That’s not what he wanted for Kyoya. 

Kyoya said it didn’t hurt. But it had still been too close, too much. When Tamaki came too close, Kyoya pulled away. That was the game they had always played.

Now Kyoya wanted to, again. Kyoya was here, sober, beneath him. It had been nine days, and he had let Tamaki into his bed.

“Are you sure?” Tamaki asked. “I thought maybe you didn’t like it because of—afterward.”

Kyoya reached up, the back of his hand brushed gently against the side of Tamaki’s face.

“I didn’t mean to give that impression,” he said. “It was the opposite.”

“Okay,” said Tamaki, his mouth going dry. It was embarrassing how hard he was just from the idea of it. “Okay. Do you have--?”

Kyoya leaned over and dug in the bedside drawer. “I don’t have any but we still have these,” he came up triumphantly with the little box of condoms from the love hotel.

Tamaki took them. He didn’t want to think about what it meant that Kyoya, a 23 year old single man who obviously wanted to have sex, didn’t keep a single condom in his house. That he had never planned---never believed he had to prepare--for this to happen seemed so wrong.

He’d been surprised to learn that Kyoya was a virgin, but it fit with the habits he had seen, and the things he had learned in their recent months together. As the years went on, Kyoya worked more, hid himself further away, and never expected to be loved.

Tamaki leaned down and kissed Kyoya at the corner of his mouth. He got the condom on and slicked himself. He wanted to make this so good for him. He wanted to make him see stars.

“I’m gonna fuck you, is that okay?” Tamaki asked, into his ear, and Kyoya whimpered, nodded, desperate and needy. Tamaki felt like he could come just from that, just from seeing Kyoya so undone, in that place beyond thought.

He pressed inside and Kyoya made a soft “hmm” noise. His eyes were closed, his hands restless, gripping the sheets and then coming up to rest on Tamaki’s upper arms.

Tamaki held still to let Kyoya adjust.

“Does it feel good? Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” said Kyoya. He was frowning, like he was concentrating. He shifted his hips a bit. “Keep going.”

Tamaki leaned down and kissed his neck, hoping to distract him with more sensations as he started to thrust inside him. It was hard to go slow, to be gentle. It felt so good. Tamaki’s body was begging for him to speed up, to lose himself in that tight heat.

He knew when he found the right angle. Kyoya was gasping below him, touching himself, his breathing ragged. Tamaki kept going. A gentle, insistent rhythm. It felt like they were so connected, hopelessly entangled.

“You--you don’t have to--” Kyoya moved his hips again. “You can do more. You don’t have to go slow.”

So Tamaki sped up, biting his lip to keep from coming when Kyoya moaned, involuntary--like the sound had been wrung out of him. The hot friction was so good. He saw Kyoya’s hand speed up as he touched himself. Tamaki tried thrusting a bit harder.

“Ah,” said Kyoya, breathing like he was sobbing, “it feels so good, what are you doing to me?”

Kyoya's hand tightened on Tamaki's shoulder when he came, he was trembling, Tamaki felt it happen around him and groaned, holding Kyoya through it and then coming himself deep inside.

Tamaki pulled away, falling onto his back next to Kyoya. He was tingling, electric, all of his nerve endings sparking.

After a few moments of collecting himself, he grabbed some tissues and cleaned them both off. Then he settled back on the bed, reached out, found Kyoya’s hair under his fingers and started stroking absently. Kyoya’s hair was fine and soft, so dark that it absorbed all the light that touched his body.

Kyoya didn’t say anything. He looked at the ceiling as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

“How do you feel?” Tamaki asked. “Not too sore?”

Kyoya rolled onto his side to face him, and Tamaki pulled his hand back. 

Kyoya studied him. “You weren’t so concerned about it last time,” he said.

“Yeah…” Tamaki swallowed, felt it stick in his throat. “I was...pretty drunk. I’m sorry it happened that way.”

Kyoya looked at him. His face was calm and open, not so guarded as usual. “I’m not,” he said.

“You don't wish your first time was more romantic?”

Kyoya laughed, startled. “It was the most romantic thing to ever happen to me,” he said. A rare admission, a rare confession. Kyoya didn’t take the time to say things he didn’t mean. Tamaki stored it away for the deepest, deepest vault in his heart.

“Anyway,” Kyoya continued. “I feel fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I may be inexperienced but I wasn’t clueless about what to expect. I can use the internet. There are a lot of things you can buy online.”

Tamaki perked up. “Whoa! Interesting,” he said. “We must discuss that in a lot more detail! And speaking of--we’re almost out of these.” He reached over and shook the box of cherry flavored condoms from the love hotel, only one left.

“We’ll buy more,” said Kyoya drowsily. “I’m going to buy a whole warehouse full. I’m going to buy the company that makes them.”

Tamaki chuckled softly. But he thought, _maybe we won't need them_. If he got tested again, and they were only with each other, and this all...lasted. If Kyoya let it last.

Tamaki had so much that he wanted to say, his chest felt heavy. But he didn’t want it to be too much. If Tamaki pretended this was all normal, everyday, Kyoya couldn’t be scared of how well it fit, or how good it felt, or how much they both wanted it.

“I’m falling asleep,” he said, instead. “Should we get ready for bed?”

“Mm,” said Kyoya. "Okay."

So they both got out of bed and cleaned up in the bathroom. They brushed their teeth side by side. They found Kyoya’s glasses and picked up the clothes they had scattered all over the floor. They fell back into bed beside each other.

It was exactly right, exactly how Tamaki hoped things would be between them, different but the same, change and also similarity.

“I called you, you know. While you were gone,” Kyoya said, when they were lying side by side in the dark. “I sent you messages.”

“Yeah,” said Tamaki. “You called me _once_ to give me some obscure quote from The Art of War.”

“You remember that?” Kyoya sounded both pleased and strangely surprised.

“I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I didn’t think...I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

Kyoya frowned, puzzling it out. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?"

He paused, choosing his words, weighing something. "Tamaki, I hope you know that, whatever happens, I’ll always...I’ll always take care of you.”

He seemed a little bit sad. Tamaki didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Everything he was trying to do, the sex, the dinner, playing the piano, it was all part of the same thing. The same thing he had been trying to say since they were in high school.

_How can I do this--how can I show you--how can I make you believe in love?_

He reached for Kyoya, and pulled him close, looping his arms around him. It was easier to express his feelings with the physical than with words. He rubbed Kyoya’s back, making slow circles with his palm.

“Mm that feels nice,” Kyoya said. He yawned. “It’s strange. I have so much trouble sleeping, usually. But I sleep well when you’re here.”

“That’s good,” said Tamaki. “Me too.”

He continued his slow backrub until Kyoya started to breathe deeply and evenly. Kyoya looked soft and boyish when he slept, not so fearsome, not scheming, all long limbs, all elbows.

 _He must know_ , Tamaki thought. _He must know how I feel by now, he must know that I…_

Maybe he didn’t know. But Tamaki couldn’t be the one to say it. When it was too much, Kyoya always pulled away. Kyoya had to be the one to say it first. 

_You’ll come through for me though, won’t you? In the end? You always do._

This was the ultimate trust fall. Free fall. Just looking at him and falling and falling and falling.

Kyoya shifted in his dreams and Tamaki felt so much desperate, desperate hope, and thought _If you can just say it, if you can just admit it, to yourself, to me, then I’ll be home_ , he thought, _I’ll be home, finally, and so will you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place at the beginning of chapter 9 of And So Kyoya Met Him! (Again). If you do go back to that story, I think you’ll find a special bonus chapter waiting at the end if you need a little more closure after this.
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3sr32yCuWAGADJp7pABScv?si=DUT3kqiBRxCiFUKv_tCNMg)
> 
> [tumblr](https://poodlepunk.tumblr.com/post/635103321026445312/expanded-author-notes-once-and-again) if you want to say hi or ask me anything (also some expanded author notes on there)!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sticking through this journey! If you enjoyed or have any feedback I hope you'll let me know in the comments. :)  
> I'd love to know what you thought.


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